Oh, give us pleasure
in the flowers to-day;
And give us not to
think so far away
As the uncertain
harvest; keep us here
All simply in the
springing of the year.
Oh, give us pleasure
in the orchard white,
Like nothing else by
day, like ghosts by night;
And make us happy in
the happy bees,
The swarm dilating
round the perfect trees.
And make us happy in
the darting bird
That suddenly above
the bees is heard,
The meteor that
thrusts in with needle bill,
And off a blossom in
mid air stands still.
For this is love and
nothing else is love,
The which it is
reserved for God above
To sanctify to what
far ends He will,
But which it only
needs that we fulfil.
Robert
Frost (1915)
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